


A Night in Ruins

by Shorina



Category: Inspector Morse (TV)
Genre: M/M, Near Death Experiences, References to Drugs, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 18:51:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14920967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shorina/pseuds/Shorina
Summary: A request for help from the Thames Valley Police branch of Reading turns into a dangerous undertaking for Morse and Lewis.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kurage_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurage_hime/gifts).



Chief Inspector Morse nodded to the family as they passed him in the hall of the intensive care unit of Wallingford Community Hospital before he approached the room they had just exited. He hesitated before opening it, as if to mentally steel himself for what he was to find inside, then entered, closed the door behind him and finally allowed his gaze to take in the scene before him. It was unchanged from when he had left out of respect for the family's need to be with their loved one.

He studied the unconscious man lying in the one occupied bed, the machines humming and beeping next to the bed, the cables and tubes running between man and machines. With a sigh, he pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and sat down, looking at his hands rather than the man. He felt responsible for what had happened. But where exactly had things gone wrong? What could he have done differently? He briefly glanced at the unmoving face before him, then back down at his hands, and started going over the last days' events once more...

 

Six Days Earlier

“You expect me to do what?” Morse could hardly believe his ears, yet his superior, Superintendent Strange, didn't seem to be in the mood for cracking bad jokes. Morse looked from Strange to the other man in the room, younger and thinner than Strange, around Morse's own height, but slim and fit looking with dark wavy hair and green eyes. Strange had introduced him as Inspector Ridlington from the Reading branch of Thames Valley Police.

“It seems to be the best option,” Strange replied.

“I can't see _anything_ good about this option,” Morse grumbled. “In fact it seems nothing but ridiculous!”

“That's because you don't know the scene,” Ridlington injected. “You and your Sergeant would be perfect for the job.”

“How can we be perfect for the job? We don't chase after junkies, we solve murders.”

“And we think our dealers are directly or indirectly responsible for at least two deaths in your neck of the woods.”

“In our 'neck of the woods'?” Morse didn't care much for his colleague's choice of words.

“The colleagues from Reading have officially requested our assistance,” Strange intervened, sensing his Chief Inspector was likely to get into a heated argument with this counterpart from Reading.

“Then send Bell, for God's sake. None of the cases Lewis and I are working on have any connection to drugs.”

“And that's just the thing,” Ridlington explained. “You and … Lewis, is it, are unknown faces in the scene.”

“Just exactly what kind of 'scene' are we talking about?”

“Drugs. What else?”

“I had gathered that much. But you keep stating that Lewis and I would be so perfect, yet you so far haven't given any explanation as to why we would be so and why on earth you expect us to,” Morse hesitated, unwilling to repeat the request that had been made, “go undercover.”

Ridlington sighed. “I'd long since have given you all the information you need, had you not started complaining before I had the chance!”

Strange held up a hand. “Then _I_ will inform you, Morse, and Ridlington here can fill in the details later.”

Morse didn't seem happy, but looked at his boss expectantly. Ridlington leaned back against the windowsill, crossed his arms over his chest and nodded his consent.

Strange briefly glanced at the inspector, then turned back to Morse. “Good. From what I gather from the request, there's a drug problem spreading north from Reading, in our direction. And apparently a group of dealers is aiming at very specific clients – homosexuals. Now don't ask me what makes them such an interesting market to drug dealers, but that's what's happening. Bell is indeed looking into two deaths, a young man and what seems to be his older... companion.”

“Sugar daddy, most likely,” Ridlington chimed in.

“Nothing unheard of in the colleges,” Morse commented. “Neither are drugs.”

“This seems to be something new, though. Autopsy reports for the young man speak of an unidentified substance that caused severe inner bleeding, leading to his death.”

Morse swallowed hard, that was not a pretty thing to imagine. “And his 'companion'?”

“Stabbed.”

“By the young man?!”

“No. He was killed two days after his death. In Wallingford.”

“Then what makes it Bell's case? That's Reading's jurisdiction.”

Ridlington had the explanation ready. “He was one of yours, Oxford citizen, in an open gay relationship with a man who died of drug abuse here in Oxford just two days earlier. Our lads were happy to let you handle it.”

“So we have two deaths, both on Bell's desk. What do you need us for?” More looked at Strange questioningly.

“As Inspector Ridlington already told you, they need a team to go undercover. And considering who our victims were, Lewis and you are just right for the job.”

Morse tried not to let his disgust at the idea show, but failed miserably. “Why not send someone from Reading? Why do you come to us for help?”

“Because a) our faces are all too well-known in the drug scene and b) you can show up as a couple who were friends with the victims. Pretend you don't even know that they're dead. You spoke to them a couple of days before the lad died and they told you about this club in Wallingford...” Ridlington seemed to have it all planned out.

“No one is going to believe Lewis and I are a homosexual couple. Plus our faces have been through the newspapers and on TV too often not to be known as much as yours.”

“You over-estimate the attention people pay to the faces of coppers, Morse.”

Morse scowled, not because Ridlington was denying his fame, he was aware he could walk through the centre of Oxford and no one would pin him down as a policeman, but because Ridlington was rubbing him up the wrong way with his casual nature.

“That's Chie...”

Strange cut him off. “That's right. And Lewis already has some experience with undercover work, doesn't he, and let's face it, Morse, his loyalty to you, whatever it's based on, has brought up the odd rumour or two about the state of your 'relationship'.”

Morse was about to protest, but Strange didn't give him the chance. “Yes, I know there's nothing to it, but it does prove a point. People are willing to consider the two of you to be a couple.”

“And that's what we need. Someone to fill the void these two left. The dealers will be looking for someone else to market their drugs to. And if those victims fit their bill, so will you, if Strange is right about the two of you. Where is this Lewis fellow anyway?”

“Sergeant Lewis,” Morse felt the need to get back to formalities with this far too easygoing inspector, “is out doing research on our current case. And quite frankly I'd like to get back to it, too.”

“Pass it on to Bell.”

“To Bell?! You do want this case solved, do you?”

Strange raised a finger as if to give Morse a lecture for the comment, but, considering their company, decided against it and let his hand fall to his desk again. “It will get solved. And should Bell not have made any progress by the time you're done with this new assignment, you can have the case back.”

“It'll be stone cold by then!”

“No, it'll be solved by then.”

Morse sighed. “You're making it sound like Lewis and I don't get a say in this.”

“I'm sorry. If it were just a local case, you would, but this is getting too big, Morse. We need to put a stop to it before it gets totally out of hand. The operation has been approved by the Chief Constable already. Inspector Ridlington will brief you both as soon as Lewis has returned.”

In fact Lewis had already returned and was going over his notes when Morse entered their shared office.

“Ah, Sir, you'll want to hear this,” Lewis immediately began, but Morse cut him off with a gesture.

“Add your notes to the file and pass it on to Bell,” he grumbled, fell heavily into his own chair and stared out of the window.

“To Bell?! What's he got to do with it?”

“We're no longer on the case, Lewis.”

“What? Why on earth not?”

Morse sighed but turned to face his sergeant. “Because the powers that be have other plans for us. They'll be here any minute to bring you up to speed.”

Lewis sat on the edge of Morse's desk, which earned him a glare he chose to ignore. “Can't you tell me?”

“I'd rather not be the one you hear this from,” Morse grumbled. “Now go and pass the file on to Bell.”

Shaking his head, Lewis ripped a few pages from his notepad and added them to the file, then walked out the door.

By the time he returned, Strange and Ridlington had arrived. The Chief Super made quick introductions, made it clear he expected full cooperation from both of them, and left his detectives alone with Ridlington.

Lewis, jovial as ever, smiled as he shook Ridlington's hand. “What brings you up here from Reading, then?”

Ridlington seemed surprised at Lewis' lack of knowledge. “You haven't briefed him yet, Morse?”

“No, _Inspector_ , I thought I'd leave the honour to you.”

Lewis glanced between the two superior detectives, then sat down behind his desk. “Well, one of you had better tell me what's going on.”

Ridlington assumed a similar pose to earlier, leaning against the windowsill, as he explained the situation to a more and more stunned Lewis.

“You're joking! Us? A couple?! No one's going to believe that for a minute.”

“Apparently some idiots already do believe it,” Morse said, still sounding very unhappy. His remark made Lewis throw him a curious glance before turning back to Ridlington.

“Okay, so even if someone believes we could be a couple, what exactly are we supposed to do down in Wallingford?”

“Snoop around. Mix and mingle and keep your eyes and ears open. Make it known you're looking for a special kick. This new drug might even have a sexual kick to it we're not aware of, there's got to be a reason they're targeting gays with it. Find out as much as you can, and pass it on to us.”

“And where do you suppose we start? I don't know anything about the drug scene or Wallingford.”

“Nor Wallingford,” Morse corrected but was ignored.

“There's a club in Wallingford that's frequented by gays, both couples and those looking for a bit of fun. I suggest you start there. And...” Ridlington reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope which he handed to Lewis. “These are your fake IDs. We've booked a room at the George Hotel for you. You're on vacation, staying out of the major cities, taking in a bit of small town charm.”

Lewis pulled out the papers inside. “Edward Michaels and Rick Landry,” he read out aloud.

“We stuck to your initials, in case any of your belongings bear them.”

Lewis skimmed over the sheet. “Seems you're a teacher and I work as a clerk in an accountant's office.”

“I wonder how we've met.”

“That's totally up to you. We can only provide the starting points. Well, your room is booked as of tomorrow. My contact details are in there as well,” he nodded at the envelope”, and if you need fast assistance for something, the colleagues in Abingdon have been informed of your operation. That's the closest station.”

“Lovely,” Morse remarked drily.

“Well, I'll leave you to it. If you have any questions, or even better, information to pass on, call me. Lewis,” he shook the sergeant's hand, then turned to just barely nod at Morse, and left.

“Edward Michaels the teacher?!” Morse clearly wasn't happy.

“Beats being an accountant's clerk if you ask me.”

“I suppose it depends on the pupils.”

“I'd happily swap, if anyone would take me for a teacher.”

“Sports, maybe,” Morse mused absent-mindedly before pushing himself out of his chair. “Well, I guess you need to make arrangements with your family-”

“Actually no. The wife and kids left for the in-laws yesterday. They'll be out of town for a couple of days.”

“No school?”

“School holidays, which I guess leaves Edward Michaels free to travel, too.”

“Yes, probably.” Morse made to leave.

“Sir? Shouldn't we plan this out a little more? Like - what am I going to call you, if you're my lover?”

Morse sighed and turned to face Lewis again. His unwillingness to deal with this assignment clearly written all over his face.

Lewis stood as well, moving to stand between him and the door. “Look, I'm not keen on this either, but if the Chief Constable nodded it off, we're gonna have to give it our best shot.”

Morse looked at him silently for a couple of seconds before apparently resigning “I should think calling me Edward will be just fine in public. And yes, you're right. Come by my house later this afternoon and we'll try to talk this through.” With that he was gone.

When Lewis pulled up in front of Morse's house later that day, he could hear music coming from an open window the moment he got out of his car. He listened for a moment. It seemed very sad to him.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, they set out on the brief drive south to Wallingford. Lewis had managed to talk Strange into giving them a car from the car pool for the mission and picked Morse up in it.

Morse was very quiet.

“Cheer up, Edward, you're on vacation!”

Morse grimaced. “I think I'll leave the cheeriness to you, _Rick_.” He nearly spat out Lewis' cover name.

“Hope you don't intend to address me like that in front of others.”

“Why not? Everyone will think we're having a lovers' tiff. I'm told people argue far more on vacation than at home.”

“I'd prefer if we could pretend to be a happy couple.”

“Just drive, Lewis. I don't see any reason to start this folly any sooner than I must.”

Lewis didn't have long to drive, though, 21km wasn't a very long distance to cover by car.

They found the hotel quickly and at the reception Morse actually managed a smile. “Edward Michaels, I believe you have a booking in my name.”

The young man at the desk flashed him a brief smile. “Let me check... ah, yes, here it is. A double room for you, Mr. Michaels?” He looked past Morse just as Lewis pushed through the door carrying both their luggage.

Morse half turned and nodded when he saw Lewis. “Yes, for us.”

“Oh! I see! Yes, one double room. Yes, we have... number six for you. If you'd just sign here...”

Morse caught himself just in time to sign with his cover name.

The young man now turned to Lewis. “And I need your name for the register as well, Mr...?”

“Landry. Rick Landry.”

“Very well. So, this is your key. And there's breakfast from six to ten am, or you can order from our room service. Your room is up on the next floor, directly on your left.”

“Thank you,” Morse said, took the key and moved to the stairs, clearly expecting Lewis to still carry both their luggage.

Lewis offered the hotel employee a brief grin and a shrug, then hurried to catch up with Morse while attempting not to bang their suitcases against anything.

“You could have lent a hand,” he complained as Morse unlocked their room and held the door open for him.

“I did open the door for you, didn't I?”

“Yeah, _this_ one, you let me deal with locking the car and getting through the entrance door to the lobby on my own, though.”

“You know,” Morse said as he shut the door behind them, “when I started out in the police force, I was considered my inspector's 'bagman'.”

Lewis chose not to comment, but rather looked around for somewhere to deposit their luggage. The best option seemed to be the bed. The one bed. A king sized double bed, admittedly, but still just the one. Most likely he'd end up sleeping in the armchair or something. For now, he hefted both suitcases onto the bed, though, and sat down next to his.

“No, move over. That's my side.”

Lewis looked up in surprise. “ _Your_ side?”

“I always sleep on this side of the bed.”

“You sleep alone. You can sleep anywhere!”

Morse glowered at him for the hidden – though pretty spot-on – assumption that Morse spent his nights alone. “Yes, and I sleep on _this_ side.”

Lewis sighed, pushed his suitcase onto the other side of the bed, and got up. “Have it your way.”

Morse let the comment pass and reached for his suitcase, opening it right where it lay, on what had been deemed Lewis' side of the bed.

“What on earth did you pack for? Ridlington said we should start out at a nightclub. You'll stand out a mile in that suit.”

“If I'm to play your sugar daddy, I think I have the right to look like a suitable gentleman.”

Lewis shook his head. “I hope you packed something else as well, cause that suit is probably fine for one of your opera evenings, but it's a no-go for a nightclub.”

Morse stood, his hands on his hips. “And when did you become an expert on homosexual couples with a significant age difference and their dress-style when going out?”

Such provocations had long since stopped working with Lewis, so he answered very calmly. “I'm not, but I did occasionally go to clubs before we had the kids, and I did ask around among the colleagues what they know about this one. And a black suit is definitely not the right style for the place.”

“Alright, what do _you_ suggest I wear? A Hawaiian shirt?”

“One of your polo necks and slacks will be just fine. If you've brought any.” Lewis turned away to start unpacking himself.

Morse had brought a mix of everything in his wardrobe, it turned out. At least that explained the weight of his suitcase, which already had made Lewis question whether Morse had packed bricks or just a ton of books.

Lewis, on the other hand, had packed exclusively casual. Out of his suitcase came a pair of jeans, a polo neck, a t-shirt and a sweater.

“I need a drink,” Morse declared once they had unpacked. 

Lewis glanced at his watch. “Isn't it a little early?”

“We're on vacation, aren't we?”

“About as much as we're a couple.”

“Oh, come one. You know me, I think better with a beer.”

“And what's there to think about? We haven't done anything yet.”

“Exactly. We need to plan our first step.” Morse moved to the door. “Are you coming?”

“Where're we going?”

“Let's ask that helpful young man at the reception. Someone who knows the breakfast details the way he does, certainly must be a well for other information, too.”

Lewis rolled his eyes at Morse, the man just couldn't make it through the day without being sarcastic. “Then let's ask him about the club as well. Like, get directions.”

“What, the helpful information you gained from the colleagues didn't include those?”

“I know exactly where it is, but if we've only heard of the place through friends we've not spoken to in a week, we might just as well not know. And you never know what he can add to what I already know.”

Morse actually smiled. “Now you're thinking like a detective. Well done, Lewis.”

“Rick,” Lewis corrected him. “We should probably stick to our cover names for the time being, before we get confused with how to address each other in which situation.”

“I suppose. So, Rick, are you coming?”

Lewis grabbed his jacket on his way out. “Ready when you are, Ed.”

“Ed?” Morse didn't seem to like it much.

“Well, Edward's quite a mouthful.”

“It's just two syllables!”

“And Ed's just one. Like Rick.”

Morse sighed and opened the door without further comment.

At the reception, Morse approached the young man who had checked them in.

“Hello, we're looking for a nice pub for lunch. I was hoping you could recommend one?”

“Of course, there's the Boat House just down the street directly on the river. Or, if you want to work up a bit more of an appetite, you can walk on across the river. There's the Queen's Head in Crowmarsh Gifford.”

“Directly on the river sounds nice, don't you think, Ed?”

“Yes, it does. Thank you.”

“Oh, before we go, friends of us have been through here recently and they told us about this club... the Lounge?”

The young man didn't exactly pull a face, but he certainly no longer smiled. “I know of it, but it's not … not exactly my scene.” He looked at the two of them. “I guess you might like it, not sure about your friend.”

“Oh, he's agreed to give it a try. In exchange I've been to the opera with him last week in Oxford,” Lewis quickly improvised. “Can you tell me where this club is? Our friends only mentioned it, but I have no clue where to find it.”

Pulling out a map from under his counter, the man at the reception started to explain directions. “I could recommend a different place, though, it's...”

“Thanks, but I think we'll try this one tonight. Must be something to it or our friends wouldn't have been so enthusiastic about it. What do you say, Ed?”

Morse stood a little off to the side, hands in his trouser pockets. “As you said, I've agreed to take you there, so I'd quite like to get it over and done with.”

Lewis chuckled at the young man. “He's been complaining about it all day already, but a promise's a promise, right?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“Well, thank you for your help. Come on, Rick, I'm thirsty.”

Lewis gave a brief wave to the more and more uncomfortable seeming man at the reception and followed Morse out.

“Did you have to tell him so many made-up facts about us?” Morse complained as they walked to the pub.

“What's wrong with it? It's pretty obvious we're not exactly from the same cultural background. So I'm only fleshing it out a little.”

Morse shook his head. “You could simply not talk about us.”

“And what did I say that was so bad? That you like opera?”

“No, it's just...” he trailed off. “Forget it. Just don't put it on quite as thick, alright?”

“Yeah, OK, fine. Though people often as more willing to talk when you offer them some information in return.”

“Then tell them about the last book you read.”

“That sounds more like something you'd do,” Lewis gave back.

“A show you saw on television, then.”

At the pub Lewis directly walked to a table from where he could look down onto the water. “I'll have a lemonade, Ed.”

Morse, about to sit down himself, threw Lewis an irritated look. Lewis grinned at him in return, his answer was spoken quietly, though. “I think as my sugar daddy, you're the one paying.”

Morse scowled but couldn't find a flaw in Lewis' logic, so he went inside to get their drinks.

“Oh, and can you check what's on the menu?” Lewis called after him, but Morse pretended not to hear.

Two rounds later, Morse finally succumbed and ordered lunch as well.

“So, how do we spend the rest of the day?”

“As you're apparently the expert on clubs, when does this Lounge open?”

“Oh, no use being there before nine, I guess. It's a _night_ club after all. We've got quite some spare time until then.”

“I see. Well, I suppose we could ask your friend at the hotel about the local sights.”

“Or just ask here at the pub.”

“Go ahead, then.”

As Morse had paid their drinks and food so far, Lewis even offered to buy one more round, using the chance to talk to the staff inside. When he returned with their drinks, he reported what he had learned.

“Not much to do here, it's a small place. The first suggestion was to simply drive up to Oxford. But when I ruled that out, the barkeeper suggested we could walk upriver and look at the castle ruins.

“Right. Wallingford Castle.”

“You know it?”

“I know _of_ it.”

“I can't think of anything else to check out until we've been to that club.”

“No, neither can I. Right, so the castle it is. Or what's left of it. I believe some of the college is still standing.”

They spent the afternoon walking around the Castle Meadows and Morse came up with a surprising amount of information on the castle. Following a brief dinner on their way back to the hotel, they got changed to head for the club.


	3. Chapter 3

“You're driving,” Morse declared.

“Shouldn't we rather get a taxi? I mean, people usually drink at clubs and I haven't even had a beer all day.”

“It's not my fault to opted for lemonade. And I think though this whole set-up was sanctioned by the Chief Constable, we're still expected to keep our expenses at reasonable levels.”

“But we've been explicitly told to start at the club,” Lewis reasoned. “If we're undercover, we should not behave like policemen, but as our characters.”

“So you expect me to pay for a taxi out of my own pocket when we have a car outside, just so you can have the beer you chose not to drink earlier when we were on foot?”

“No, I expect the force to refund our expenses. It wasn't our idea to go undercover after all.”

“And if they don't refund it?”

“You won't know unless you try.”

“If they don't refund it, you're paying the rounds for a week.”

Lewis suspected he would be paying anyway, so he didn't mind the deal. “OK. I'll phone down to reception to call a taxi for us.”

“As we have a telephone directory and a telephone right here, I suppose we can do that ourselves.”

“Have it you way,” Lewis said and vanished into the little bathroom, leaving the task to Morse.

Morse wasn't sure what he had expected the club to be like, but it had not been a large room with plush sofas and armchairs arranged around tables, full of men of all ages, and shirtless waiters in tight trousers wearing bow ties moving through this scene, trays held high. Most of all he hadn't expected to find so many men of his own age or even older in this place, but apparently this club catered to an age-range from seemingly just barely adult to pensioners.

No one seemed bothered by him, so Lewis' advice on clothing probably had been a good one. In fact, he probably could have worn a regular shirt just as well. Lewis fit in just as well though, in his tight jeans and t-shirt.

“So, what now?” Morse asked, having to shout in Lewis' ear over the volume of music and people talking and dancing.

“Mix and mingle.”

“Shouldn't we stay together, I mean, we're here as a couple.”

“Yeah, but I guess you won't want to dance to that music, but I might. I think there's nothing wrong if we separate for a bit and then meet up again. Just try to have some fun and talk to people.”

“How am I supposed to have a conversation with anyone in here? It's way too loud.”

“We're talking, aren't we? You'll be fine,” he reassured Morse and, to the Chief Inspector's surprise, patted him on the shoulder affectionately before heading towards the dance floor.

“Oh, the young ones, we can never keep up with them, lovely as they are,” someone said in Morse's other ear. “Can I buy you a drink while he's enjoying himself?”

Morse was perplexed by the words and stared at the stranger for a moment.

“Sorry, where are my manners. I should probably introduce myself. I'm Rodney.” The man seemed to be maybe a few years younger than Morse, a little shorter, dressed in a wine-red shirt and white trousers.

“M...” Morse caught himself just in time. “My name's Edward.”

“Great to meet you, Edward. Is this your first time here? I certainly haven't seen you around before. I'd remember _you_.”

Morse growled inwardly, but managed not to let it show. “My partner and I are here on vacation. Friends had recommended we check out this place.”

“I'm glad they did!” Rodney shouted in Morse's ear. “Well, how about that drink? What are you having, a nice red wine? Or a cocktail?”

“Actually I'm more of a beer man.”

“Oh, how very down to earth! A beer you shall have then.”

Lewis had watched the scene from the dance floor and chuckled. It was obvious that Morse had found an admirer. He spun around when someone pinched his behind, though.

“Hey there,” a man around his own age yelled at him, grinning. “Care to dance?”

“Yeah, sure,” Lewis replied, hoping he'd figure out how to dance with another man. Although it probably wasn't too hard, this wasn't ballroom dancing, it was more just moving to the music somehow and didn't seem to necessarily involve close contact.

He did his best to adjust to the man's movements until the stranger laughed.

“What?” Lewis shouted at him.

“You're not doing this very often, do you?”

“That obvious?”

“Hell, yeah. Just relax. Have fun! You can't really go wrong – unless you try to force something.”

Lewis stopped trying to copy the other man's movements and he immediately felt that it was much easier to move to the music the way that came naturally to him. The other man gave him a thumbs up.

Another song later, Lewis leaned closer. “Hey, do you want to get a drink? I'm kinda thirsty.”

“Love to,” came the shouted reply. “Follow me!” To emphasize his words, the man nodded in the direction he started to head.

Lewis followed him and was amazed to find there was another room to the Lounge, one that was a lot quieter.

“Oh, I had no clue there was another room here.”

“Never been here before?”

“Nah, only stopping over for a few days. Vacation.”

The stranger led him to the bar in the room and slid onto a chair. Lewis sat next to him.

“What're you having?”

“What do you recommend?

“I'll have a 'Birds and the Bees', I think.”

“Never heard of that one.”

“Then let me treat you... sorry, I didn't catch your name.”

“Ta, and it's Rick.”

“Gary,” the man introduced himself before ordering two cocktails.

“Are you with that older guy, a little stiff, silver hair? I saw you watching him earlier on.”

“Yeah. He's mine.”

“Oh, a possessive one, are you?”

“More protective. He wasn't too keen on coming here, but he just can't say no to me.”

“Ha, wish I had someone like that.”

Their drinks arrived.

“Hope you'll like it, Rick. Cheers!”

Lewis picked up his cocktail. It looked a lot fancier than what he usually drank. But what the heck. “Cheers,” he echoed and took a careful sip.

Gary observed him closely. “So?”

Lewis wasn't quite sure what to make of the taste. “It's something different for sure.”

“Yeah, I've never seen this one served elsewhere. But it's good, isn't it?”

It was strong, sweet and bitter all at the same time.

“I hope your partner won't be punching my nose for buying you a drink.”

“Nah, not his style. He's really got a knack for scowling at people, though. But it's just a cover. He's really a caring soul underneath it.” Lewis was surprised to find he actually meant it.

“Sounds like he needs something to help him relax a little.”

“Yeah, he's not very good at that.” He tried another sip of his cocktail. It tasted better than the first. Maybe this was one of those acquired taste things.

Gary pulled something out of his jeans pockets and pushed it into Lewis' hand. It was a small bag with two pills in it. “Give him one of those and I promise you two will have a lot of fun.”

“Look, I only have a few bucks for a drink on me...”

Gary stopped him with a gesture. “On the house, cause I like you, Ricky. Can I call you Ricky?”

“Ta, that's really generous. And yeah, Ricky is fine. I've given up trying to get Ed to call me that.”

“Well, try again after he's had one of those. And now better put them away.”

Lewis quickly shoved the small bag into his own trouser pocket. “Right. What exactly are those anyway?”

“Something brand new on the market. You'll like the effects, I'm sure.” Gary winked at him and nodded at Lewis' crotch.

“Oh.” Lewis had to swallow when he understood the implied meaning, but then grinned. “Sounds great.”

“It is.” Gary raised his class and clinked it against Lewis'. “Here's to our loved ones, eh?”

“Yeah, to love.”

While they were amicably chatting and drinking, and Gary was flirting just a little, Morse was bored out of his mind by the seemingly never ending chatter of Rodney. He emptied his beer and stood. “Thanks for the beer, but I think I should go looking for my partner. I haven't seen him anywhere for a while.”

The thought worried him a little. One moment Lewis had been on the dance floor, the next he was gone.

“Oh, he seemed to be enjoying himself, he headed off to the other room with a local fellow. Come on, let him off the leash a little, the young ones need to be among their own at times. Here, I'll buy you another beer.”

It was rare that Morse said no to the offer of a free beer, but this one wouldn't be free, it would come at the price of having to endure this man's senseless babbling even longer. It was a price he wasn't willing to pay. “Thank you, but no. I'd really like to go looking for my friend.”

“Oh, protective of him, huh? He seemed old enough to look after himself, though. How long have you been together?”

“A couple of years,” Morse replied, “and I'd quite like things stay that way.”

“Hey, no need to be jealous of Gary. He's a flirt, but harmless. He won't steal your boy.”

“He's not my boy,” Morse replied irritatedly while he scanned the scene for the entrance to the other room this Rodney character had mentioned. He finally saw people moving through a thick curtain and headed that way, both to find Lewis and to get away from the ever babbling Rodney.

He found Lewis at the bar in the next room, talking to someone. Before someone else could try to chat him up, Morse walked over to him.

“So this is where you're hiding.”

Lewis hadn't been aware of his approach, sitting with the back to the entrance. He half-turned when Morse spoke “Oh, hey. Come and join us. This is Gary. Gary, this is Ed.”

“Great to meet you, Ed, Ricky here's been telling me so much about you.”

“Oh, has he?”

Morse glanced at his sergeant, wondering what stories he'd come up with this time. “Well, he _is_ the chattier one out of the two of us.”

Morse stood beside Lewis, not really wanting to sit down and get drawn into the conversation, but neither sure what else to do. To his surprise, Lewis easily slipped an arm around his waist, prompting Gary to chuckle. “I guess I'll leave you two lovebirds alone. Oh, one last thing, Rick, if you're up for a little more fun, come to the castle tomorrow night.”

“Never heard of that club,” Lewis gave back thoughtfully.

“Not a club, silly, Wallingford Castle. The ruins, right by the river.” He winked, squeezed Lewis' hand that rested on the bar and got up. “Have fun you two.”

“Thank you,” Morse said formally, which just made Gary shake his head, laughing as he walked off. “What was that about?”

Lewis looked up at him and for the first time Morse looked at his face properly. “And what have you been up to here?”

“Nothing much, Gary bought me a few drinks and we talked. No need to be jealous.” He giggled a little.

Morse reached for Lewis' not yet quite empty cocktail glass and sniffed it. “I wouldn't have thought you liked gin.”

“You get kinda used to it after a bit,” Lewis said unnecessarily defensively and Morse noticed there was a slight slur to his words.

“It would seem you got a little too used to it. I think it's time we leave. And I hope getting drunk on gin was worth it.”

Lewis grinned at him. “Yup.”

Morse glanced upward for a moment, then pulled Lewis' arm over his shoulders. “Let's get you back to the hotel.”

“I haven't finished me drink,” Lewis complained and tried to reach for the glass.

“Take it from me, you've had enough.” And he felt pity for Lewis already now, because he was sure his sergeant would sport a mighty hangover come morning.

Lewis was as good as asleep by the time a taxi dropped them off at their hotel and Morse was glad to just let him drop down onto his side of the bed and remove his shoes. He wasn't used to supporting someone else's weight in that way. When he returned from the bathroom a few minutes later, Lewis was snoring softly.


	4. Chapter 4

Morse's prediction of a mighty hangover had been spot on. But after some orange juice and aspirins, Lewis finally was able to update him on what he'd learned from Gary.

“We should get those pills to the lab asap, I guess,” Lewis said, still slightly wincing at the sound of his own voice.

“Indeed. And as I suspect you are in no shape to drive, I'll go alone while you try to sleep off that hangover.”

“Sounds good to me. God, I've been drunk before, but I've never had a hangover as bad as this.”

“Stay away from gin next time.”

“I had no idea what was in that cocktail.”

“Then you definitely should have stayed away from it.”

Lewis winced again. “Yeah, I know. No need to shout.”

“I'm nowhere near shouting,” Morse stated but tried to speak a little softer. “Drink some more water and then try to sleep it off. I'll be a while, driving to Oxford and back.”

Lewis chose to simply nod.

“I must admit, you're a rather... cute drunk.”

“Oh god, what did I do that I don't remember?”

“Nothing out of character.”

“Out of mine or Rick's?”

Morse considered it. “A little of both, I suppose.”

Lewis eyes him wearily but but as Morse seemed to be more amused than angry or upset, he chose silence instead or words, and simply shrugged.

When Morse returned mid-afternoon, he found Lewis on the phone. Apparently he felt better.

“I gotta go love. Give mommy a big kiss from me, okay? Yeah, love you, too.”

“I take it you're feeling better as you're making phone-calls.”

“Yeah, thankfully. Sleep did help. I'm mostly recovered.”

“Mostly?”

“Still a little queasy at times, but it's getting less.”

Morse nodded. “Then we should probably get some food into you. Have you had lunch?”

“No, slept right through until an hour or so ago.”

“Let's head to the pub. Some fresh air will do you good.”

“So now you're using my hangover as an excuse to have a beer?”

Morse was about to vehemently reject the accusation when he looked back at Lewis and saw the cheeky grin on his face.

“Your wits have been restored, it seems,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “I nearly fell for that one.”

“Sorry, I couldn't resist.”

“I'm just glad this Gary character didn't actually slip anything into your drink and you really _only_ had a bad gin-hangover.” Morse turned to the door, and thus didn't see the smile his words brought onto Lewis' face as he remembered the way he had described Morse to Gary the last night. Yes, he did care, he simply didn't let it on very often.

Fish and chips and a glass of cold lemonade fully restored Lewis to his usual self. 

Morse updated him on his visit to Oxford while they ate. The lab would take a while to fully check the pills, but were excited to get their hands on samples. He'd also swallowed his own pride and called Ridlington to update him, then sat with an artist to create a sketch of Gary that had been faxed to Ridlington.

“Does he know who he is?”

“No. But he's making inquiries. Most likely, Gary is not his real name anyway, even if that's the name he's known by.”

“Known by who?”

“Whom,” Morse automatically corrected. “Someone identified the man you walked off with as Gary before you introduced us.”

“Oh, so he's a regular at the place.”

“If he's aiming for homosexuals, it seems to be a very good place to do it.”

Lewis nodded. “So, what do we do now? I'm not sure what he meant by what he said before he left... the bit about wanting more fun.”

“I asked Ridlington about it, but he's not aware of anything unusual taking place at the ruins.”

“So, will _we_ check it out? Gary explicitly said tonight, so might be the first time something is happening. If they're still new in the business...”

“Yes, that's a possibility. Either that, or whatever is going to happen there tonight isn't bound to a fixed location and they move about.”

“Then we should definitely check it out tonight. If they don't return there, we might not hear where something is happening next.”

“Right.”

“Should we call backup?”

“And tell them what? Look, there might be something going on tonight. We have no idea what. It might simply be some people having a party, but just to make sure no one drinks too many gin cocktails, you'd better send a unit as backup?”

Lewis sighed. “I guess I haven't heard the last of that one, have I? But yes, I see what you mean. It might be something totally harmless and we're gonna get told off for the unnecessary expenses if no backup is needed after all.”

“Let me put it that way – yesterday's taxi fares would be the least of our problems.”

“Probably, yeah. So we're going alone?”

“You're going.”

“What?! On me own?!”

“Yes. And I'll be your backup. This Gary character invited you to stop by whatever is going to happen. You're the one good at spinning tales. Tell him how much you loved the pills or something. And I'll be in the background with the car.”

“You can't keep an eye on the whole area from any one place. Especially not in the dark.”

“Well, I don't expect Gary to be hiding in the dark. If he wants to meet up with people, he'll have to provide a way for them to find him, the easiest of which is light. Which will make looking on from the side a pretty easy task.”

Lewis didn't seem totally convinced. “It's still a big and uneven area. And the ruins and trees don't make it any easier to keep an eye on every spot.”

“I don't expect having to keep an eye on _every_ spot. I'll follow you, keeping to the dark, but find a spot where I can observe what's going on.”

“And how much do you expect to see from a distance?”

“You know, L... Rick, some very useful instruments have been invented over time, among them a very helpful device called binoculars.”

Lewis rolled his eyes at him. “Yeah, okay. I wasn't aware you'd brought any.”

“I did today. They're in the trunk of the car.”

“Well, I haven't had a reason to look in there, have I? In fact I haven't been anywhere near the car!”

Morse chuckled. “If you dish it out, you have to be able to take it.”

Now Lewis got it: payback for his earlier comment at the hotel. “Right, I think we're quits now.”


	5. Chapter 5

As Gary had not given Lewis a precise time they decided to wait until it was fully dark. They had checked where to park earlier on, though. The best option was at the cemetery and walk onto the castle grounds from there.

Lewis got out of the car as they parked and opened the trunk, taking out two torches and the pair of binoculars. He kept one of the torches and passed the other items on to Morse.

“I hope I'll find Gary.”

“I think you will. He clearly wanted you to come here, so he will not be hiding too far from sight.”

“Only one way to find out, I guess.” He clicked on his torch and pointed it in the direction of the access gate.

“Go, I'll be watching.”

“Right.” Lewis seemed uncomfortable, but with a grim expression on his face, he set off onto the castle grounds.

He decided to head towards the actual ruins as best he could in the dark, as Gary had explicitly mentioned the castle.

Occasionally he glanced over his shoulder, but he had no idea if Morse was following him or where he was. He felt pretty lonely out here in the dark. But then he spotted something, a ray of light shone through the night off to his left. As he headed in the direction, the light became more obvious and Lewis realised it had to be coming from the ruins of the college Morse had shown him only the day before.

Forcing himself to put on a more cheerful demeanour, he headed straight for the light. Stepping through what had once been an archway, he saw some shapes against the light. Gary clearly wasn't on his own. He now also heard murmuring and some other sounds. The light came from some burning torches that had been placed inside what had once been the college, mostly hidden from view by the remaining walls.

He walked past a snogging couple, past someone apparently making out against one of the walls, though he couldn't see the other party involved, and finally found Gary. Just like at the club there seemed to be only men around.

“Ricky!” Gary exclaimed when he spotted him. “I had hoped you'd show up. Didn't you bring Ed?”

“Wasn't sure I should. You were pretty vague yesterday.”

“My bad. Sorry. He'd have been welcome. We're having a bit of a party, as you can see. Here, have a drink. Only beer tonight, though, we have no cocktail bar out here.”

“Oh, I've had enough of those anyway. Don't know how you stomach them, I had one hell of a hangover.”

“Sorry about that, I probably should have warned you. I hope you and Ed still had some fun.”

Lewis put on a fake grin. “Yeah, thankfully the hangover didn't arrive until afterwards.”

Gary punched him on the arm. “Great! So, did he loosen up or what?”

“Oh yeah, he sure did. I got to know a totally different Ed last night.”

“One you liked, I hope?”

“You bet. We both did.”

“Good, good.” Gary handed him a can of beer from a cooler. “Here's your beer, Ricky.”

“Ta, man.” Lewis opened the can and took a swig from it, then leaned closer to Gary. “Hey Gary, do you have any more of those pills? They sure make our vacation a hell lot more fun.”

“I don't but there's someone here who does. He's not quite as generous with them as I am, if you catch my meaning.”

“Sure do. Not a problem. Ed gave me a little pocket money for the occasion.”

“In that case, let me introduce you...” Gary amicably put his arm around Lewis' shoulders and led him to someone standing in one of the less well lit corners of the area.

“Hey Jo, business call for you,” he called out to the man, making him turn and look in their direction.

Lewis couldn't make out any features on the man's face in the gloom, but his gut feeling told him something was not right here. If only he had a clue what. Well, unless he did, all he could do was play along.

“Shit, Gary, who're you draggin' in here?”

“This is Ricky, he and his partner are stopping by on vacation and they really liked the sample of your wares I gave them.”

“You idiot!” The man Gary had addressed as Jo called out. Before Lewis – or Gary for that matter – had any idea of what was going on, the man had a knife out and rushed at Lewis.

Lewis tried to reel back, but Gary's arm that was still casually draped around his shoulders hindered his movement, and he felt the knife enter his flesh. Pain shot through him, making his earlier hangover seem like no more than a prick to the finger in comparison.

“He's a cop, I know his face,” Jo seethed. He withdrew the knife and Lewis dropped to his knees, going into shock too fast to even scream. Blood soaked his shirt and jacket in no time. His torch clattered to the ground as his fingers released their grip on it.

“What the fuck are you doing,” screamed Gary, jumping away from Lewis but at the same time becoming weary of Jo.

“I'm getting outta here, and you'd better as well.”

As Lewis slumped over, supporting himself on the ground with one hand, while reaching for the wound in his stomach with the other, Jo grabbed a backpack from the ground and raced off. Lewis looked up at Gary, forming the words “help me” with his lips, but no sound came past them. Gary stared at him for a long moment, said “shit, shit, shit” and took off into the dark.

Lewis tried to push himself up, but he could feel his strength ebbing away fast. He managed to get his body vertical again, but didn't make it onto his feet.

He wondered why no one came to his help. He had seen other people here, they must have heard the shouting, but no one came. Again he tried to call for help, but again his words failed him.

He slumped over again, just barely supporting himself with one hand. Was this how it would end? He should turn. He should try to get someone's attention. But he couldn't. He had no strength left.

Suddenly someone was at his side. “Lewis? Lewis! Oh God.”

Morse dropped to his knees beside him and Lewis could feel his body being pulled upward again. A hand pressed onto his.

“Is anyone still there? We need an ambulance!” But Lewis didn't hear any reply. He managed to turn his head, which seemed like an extremely difficult task. 

Morse looked around, but then met Lewis' eyes. “They've all fled. Come on, we need to get you to hospital. Now. Can you walk?”

Lewis _very_ slowly shook his head.

“Yes, you can. Come on, I'll support you.” Morse pulled Lewis' free arm around his shoulders. “You just keep pressing on that wound and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Lewis, look at me!”

Lewis' eyes were fluttering. Morse lightly slapped his face. “You need to stay awake, Lewis. Come on, work with me.”

Morse groaned as he had to get them both up from the ground, but he managed. Now was not the time to worry about his aching knees. “Come on, Lewis. Walk. We need to get you away from here.”

Lewis wanted to speak, to tell him he was too tired to walk, that it was too much of an effort, but Morse didn't even give him the chance to form any words. “Stay with me, Robbie.” Morse didn't even realise he had switched to first names, but Lewis, tired, exhausted and in pain as he was, did. Yes, Morse cared about him. 

“Come on, step by step. You can do this.” Morse struggled to keep a grip on Lewis' arm around his shoulder and point the torch at the ground ahead of them, but he had wrapped his other arm tightly around Lewis' waist in an effort to keep him upright.

“Just focus on the next step. Good. And another one. You're doing well, Robbie. Just keep going...”

He wasn't sure how they managed or how long it took them, but eventually they arrived back at their car and Morse managed to lay Lewis across the back seat. “Stay with me, Robbie,” he called while he rushed to the trunk, looking for the first aid kit. He found a compress and a blanket in it and rushed back to Lewis's side.

He didn't dare pull Lewis' blood-soaked clothes away, so he only lifted Lewis' hand high enough to place the compress underneath it. “Keep pressing on it, Robbie. You're doing fine.” He knew it was a lie, but he refused to dwell on the possibility that Lewis might die. Morse spread the blanket over Lewis. “Now listen to me, Robbie, I saw a payphone when we arrived. I need to call an ambulance for you. Stay awake, I'll be back as quickly as I can.”

He had long since realised Lewis didn't have the strength or air or whatever to speak, so he only squeezed Lewis hand and rushed off.

By the time he returned, Lewis had lost consciousness. The way he was lying, with his feet out the open door, there was no chance Morse would be able to drive towards the ambulance and he didn't dare move Lewis any more. Instead he got in on the back seat on the other side, edging so close that he could pull Lewis' head onto his lap and stroke his hair. He kept murmuring something to Lewis he later didn't remember, while he added his own strength to pressing down on the wound in Lewis' body with his other hand.

It seemed like an eternity until the ambulance arrived and Morse was escorted away so the paramedics could do their job unhindered. Morse insisted on riding with them in the ambulance, when they finally moved Lewis.


	6. Chapter 6

Those events had taken place three days ago. Two days ago, Lewis' family had arrived and spent hours with their unconscious husband and father on both days.

Morse had refused to go home, so Ridlington, who had of course been informed, had sent someone to pick up Morse's and Lewis' belongings from the hotel. The most Morse had done was change into clean clothes. He hadn't bothered shaving, though.

Could he have expected this? He wasn't even certain what had happened. He had only seen a shadow rush at Lewis, had heard shouting he couldn't make out, and then watched in horror as Lewis slumped to his knees. That's when he had stopped watching and had run from his cover to the old college as fast as he could and dared in the dark. By the time he had arrived, everyone else had fled.

And now Lewis lay in this bed, unconscious from a stab wound that had not only caused great blood loss, but had damaged Lewis' lung. He'd been barely alive by the time the ambulance finally arrived, and pale as he was now, attached to the machines that helped him breathe, checked his pulse and blood pressure and whatnot, he didn't look any better to Morse. And yet the doctors had assured him Lewis was stable and would survive. They simply couldn't give him a time-frame for when he'd regain consciousness.

Staring into thin air without focus, Morse didn't realise he had reached for Lewis' hand at the memory of Lewis unconscious body, his hand on Lewis' as he tried to stem the blood flow from the wound. “Oh God, I'm so sorry, Lewis,” he said. He had said it over and over these last couple of days, maybe because it was easier to say it to an unconscious man than when he would have to look him in the eye.

Suddenly his eyes regained focus and he looked at his own hand in surprise. Surprise at where it was, and … surprise at what had felt like someone pressing it. Just barely.

He nearly jumped out of his chair in his haste and bent over Lewis, not releasing the hand he was holding. “Lewis? Robbie? Can you hear me?”

There, again slight pressure on his hand. Or was he imagining this? But then Lewis' eyelids started to flutter and without thinking, Morse reached out a hand and gently stroked Lewis' hair. “Robbie?”

Slowly the eyes opened and though it seemed to take a while for them to focus, Lewis clearly was awake. Morse's heart skipped a beat and he was lost for words for a moment.

Lewis' eyes focussed on his face and Morse felt him trying to alter his grip on his hand. At first he thought Lewis was trying to pull his hand away, but then fingers closed a little more firmly around his own while Lewis' eyes never left his face.

“You're in hospital,” Morse finally said, his voice hoarse with the emotion he was trying to suppress. His own words kick-started his brain. “I'll get the doctors, they need to know you're awake.” He stood tall again, removing his hand from Lewis' head, but Lewis held on to his other hand. Morse looked down at their hands. “I'll be back soon.” But instead of releasing his hand, Lewis rubbed his thumb over Morse's hand very lightly. It felt like a gentle caress, but might as well simply be a lack of strength that made his touch so light.

“Robbie,” Morse started again. “I need to get the doctors. Now that you're awake they can hopefully take you off life-support. You'll be able to breath naturally again.” At least as natural as a not yet fully healed lung allowed. Breathing probably would be painful for a while, though he suspected Lewis didn't feel any pain right now. Morse was pretty certain his sergeant was pumped full of painkillers, morphine or something to that effect.

Lewis finally released his grip on Morse's hand. “I'll be quick,” Morse promised and headed for the door, his heart a little lighter already.

A few minutes later, a team of doctors and nurses filled the room, checking Lewis' vital functions, the reaction of his pupils and so forth. Satisfied with the results, they did indeed take Lewis off life-support.

A nurse with a very gentle voice smiled at him as she carefully helped him sip a little water to soothe his sore throat. “Your family was here earlier. I'll try to call them, maybe they're home yet. They'll be so happy to hear you're awake.”

“And if no problems occur, we can transfer you to Oxford in a few days time, so they can visit you so much more easily, Mr. Lewis,” the doctor added.

With that, the team cleared the room. “You can go back inside, but don't tire him. He needs a lot of rest,” one of the nurses informed Morse, who had been pacing the hall.

“Thank you.” Morse reached for the handle, but again hesitated. “Is he fully awake?” He called after the nurse.

“Pretty groggy, but he is aware of who and where he is. He's going to be fine,” she assured Morse.

Morse took a deep breath. He owed Lewis one hell of an apology for sending him into the ruins on his own. No matter what had actually led to the stabbing, he should have been there, should at least have been closer.

He pushed open the door and tried to smile, but now it didn't come as easily as it had when Lewis had opened his eyes for the first time in days.

Lewis' eyes were closed again, so Morse quietly walked to the bed and sat down again. The chair felt way too familiar by now.

Apparently he had still made some noise, because Lewis opened his eyes and groggily turned his head a little. He smiled when he saw Morse. “Call that quick?” He croaked.

Morse couldn't help but smile. It was a sad smile. “I wish I had been quicker the other night. Or even better, been there with you....”

Lewis raised his hand a little and Morse trailed off. 

“You saved me,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Morse couldn't believe his ears. “I put you in danger in the first place!”

“You couldn't know...” Lewis coughed a little. “Water?”

Morse spotted a bottle of water and a glass on the table next to his chair and poured some, then stood and held the glass to Lewis' lips. After a few sips, Lewis let his head drop back onto his pillow and Morse sat down again, nervously playing with the glass in his hands.

It took all his nerve to ask, “can you tell me what exactly happened? I couldn't see any details, it was too dark where you stood.”

Lewis frowned, trying to remember. “Gary... introduced me to someone... Joe?” He closed his eyes for a moment and Morse thought he'd fallen asleep, but Lewis reopened his eyes. “This Joe, he recognized me, knew I'm a policeman. I... he...” He winced at the memory. “It happened so fast,” he mumbled.

“This Joe is the one who stabbed you?”

Lewis nodded but then shook his head. “Couldn't really see him... in the shadow.”

“It doesn't matter. The only thing that is important right now is that you make a full recovery.”

Lewis was quiet for a moment, then he grinned a little. “Don't fuss...” he mumbled sleepily. He drifted off to sleep to Morse's genuine laughter.

Morse stayed by his side until Lewis' family rushed into the room an hour later. The sudden noise roused Lewis from his sleep and he both smiled and groaned when Lyn threw her arms around his neck.

Morse quietly left the room and went looking for a phone. First he called Strange, telling him the good news that Lewis had woken up and was expected to make a full recovery. Then he fumbled for Ridlington's card in his pocket and called his colleague.

“Morse here. Lewis woke up. – No, he's not yet in any state to give a full statement, just listen for a moment.” He quickly passed on what little information he had gleamed from Lewis, then hung up.

He dropped down in one of the chairs in the waiting area, his jacket across his lap, and he soon nodded off, relief making his body give in to its exhaustion. He was woken up by someone gently shaking his shoulder. “Mr. Morse?”

He blinked and slowly focussed on a nurse he'd seen around the ward before. “Yes?”

“Mr. Lewis is asking for you.”

“Oh. Thank you.” He pushed himself up, stiff from falling asleep in the chair, and walked down the hall to Lewis' door. He gently knocked and entered.

Lewis was awake and looked to the door.

“One of the nurses said you wanted to see me.”

“I wasn't sure whether you'd gone home, but someone said you'd not left the hospital since we got here, so you'd probably still be around.”

Lewis was speaking more easily again, though he still seemed a little out of breath.

Morse just stood where he had stopped, at the end of Lewis bed. They looked at each other for a long moment in silence.

“You sound better,” Morse finally uttered, just to break the the spell of the moment.

“Yeah, Lyn took it upon her to make sure I drank enough water. My throat feels much better.”

“Good. That's … good.”

Lewis visibly swallowed. “What you said earlier – do you really blame yourself for what happened?”

Morse couldn't look him in the eye, but nodded.

“Well, I don't. I meant what I said. You saved my life.”

“After sending you into danger in the first place. Alone.”

“No, you were there. Even if we had had backup there, no one would have been close enough to prevent this. It happened too fast.” Lewis breathing became more ragged and agitated.

“At least they could have helped get you to safety.”

Lewis took a long, slow breath. “You got me to safety.” When Morse didn't reply, he went on quietly. “I didn't really notice a lot of what was going on any more, but I knew you were by my side, and you talked to me. Your voice... it was something I could focus on.”

Now Morse did look up. “I wasn't sure you heard any of what I said. For a while I thought I was just talking to myself.”

Lewis shook his head. “I heard it all. I think,” he added. “At least until you said something about calling an ambulance. I don't really remember anything beyond that.”

“You had lost consciousness by the time I returned to the car.”

“What happened then?”

Then I held your head in my lap and kept murmuring to you, Morse thought. “I tried to stem the blood loss from your wound. There wasn't much else I could do until the ambulance arrived.”

Lewis closed his eyes, trying to focus on a specific memory that had just flashed up, but was already fading again.

“You were in the car with me...”

“I could hardly have pressed on your wound standing outside.”

Lewis ignored it, still trying to get a clearer picture on whatever it was he remembered. He opened his eyes again, looked at the chair at the side of the bed, then at Morse. A gentle smile spread across his face.

“What?” Morse asked.

“I think I wasn't totally unconscious. I do remember one thing.”

“Ah?”

“Yes.”

“What do you remember?” He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

“A touch. Just like earlier when I woke up.” Lewis tried to reach for his water glass, but Morse got there before Lewis reached it and passed it over.

After sipping a little more water, Lewis looked up at Morse, who was now standing at the side of his bed again. He motioned for Morse to bend down a little, and Morse did, thinking Lewis was growing too tired to speak loud enough for him to hear otherwise.

Instead Lewis nudged his hand. “Put that where you had it before. I liked that.”

Confused, Morse looked down at him.

“You were stroking my hair,” Lewis reminded him, now speaking in a hushed tone.

“I … I guess I was,” Morse said, still not moving.

“I liked it,” Lewis said again, and this time Morse jumped his own shadow and reached for Lewis, gently stroking a strand of hair off his forehead.

Lewis smiled and closed his eyes. His hand searched for Morse's other hand and gently squeezed its fingers when he found it.

“Will you be here when I wake up,” he asked sleepily, the talking having exhausted him.

“I will, Robbie,” Morse confirmed. “I'll be here.”

“Good. I told him you cared,” Lewis murmured and dozed off. Morse stroked his hair a little longer, than sat down, never letting go of Lewis' hand. His back would be killing him in a while for sitting bent forward like this, but it didn't matter.

Yes, Robbie, I do care. More than I should, Morse thought. Now it was his turn to gently rub his thumb over Lewis' hand.

Both men awoke when a nurse entered with Lewis' dinner a while later. Morse hastily withdrew his hand, quicker to be fully awake than Lewis.

“You really should go home, Mr. Morse,” the nurse admonished him.

But there's no one there who wants me to hold his hand or stroke his hair, Morse thought. “Someone has tried to stab my colleague, there's no way I'm leaving him alone until I am certain there's no danger to his life any more.”

Lewis glanced at him in confusion. No one had mentioned he was under protection, and that wasn't a job for a detective anyway. But then he realised that this time Morse was spinning a tale to explain his constant presence.

“My, my, I've heard of cuts in police funding, but surely there must be someone available who can swap with you.”

“I'm afraid we're low on staff at the moment. School holidays,” Morse quickly came up with.

The nurse still seemed confused, but who was she to argue with a policeman about his job. “Well, Mr. Lewis, as you're awake, you need to eat. Liquids only for you today, so I've brought you a nice broth. Be careful, it's still hot.”

She placed the soup and a spoon within Lewis' reach and left.

“I'm under protection?” Lewis asked, picking up his spoon.

“Not officially, no.”

“So who's spinning tales now?”

“I guess I'm picking up your bad habits.”

Lewis eat a spoonful of soup, then looked at Morse. “Thanks for staying.”

Morse nodded. “It's the least I can do.”

Lewis rolled his eyes. “What more do you think you could do but save my life?”

Morse shrugged. “Keep you company, if you actually want it.”

Lewis nodded. “Yes, though you look like you need a good night's sleep. And a shave.” 

Morse rubbed the stubble on his chin. “You think a beard wouldn't suit me then?”

Lewis considered the question, then grinned. “I don't think you're the type, no.”

“What type am I, then?”

“The one who'd go to a nightclub wearing a tux?”

Now Morse rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “I'm glad you're feeling better.”

“Me, too,” Lewis said between spoonfuls of soup. “When did you last eat?”

“I had a snack earlier on, while your family was here.”

And suddenly there seemed to be an elephant standing in the room. Lewis' family. “Maybe I really should go home.”

Lewis didn't reply for a moment. “To be honest, I'd rather you stayed. At least for the night.”

Morse swallowed. “And do what? Hold your hand again?” It sounded much angrier than he had intended and Lewis flinched at his tone.

“I'm sorry. It's just...”

“It's what?”

Morse sighed. “What are we doing here, Lewis? Me sitting in that chair, holding your hand? You asking me to stroke your hair?”

Lewis considered the question. “Right now I'm just glad to be alive and take any pleasure I can get. And when you don't snap at me...”

Morse waited, caught between dread and hope about how Lewis would finish that sentence.

“... I really like being around you. Or having you around me. And oddly enogh I also like you holding my hand, stroking my hair and just murmuring to me. I really don't remember much of what you said, for the most I simply remember your voice.”

“And where is this supposed to lead in your opinion?”

“I don't know. I haven't really thought about it leading anywhere. Can't I just enjoy what pleasure I can?”

“Well, I guess as you're in hospital there probably isn't much choice in pleasures.”

“I think I'd just as much enjoy you stroking my hair if we sat on the sofa in your living room,” Lewis said quietly.

Morse swallowed. “Would you?”

Lewis nodded. “Would you?” He asked in return.

“Yes, I think I would very much enjoy that, Robbie.”

“You know, that's something else I enjoy: You calling me Robbie instead of Lewis.”

“That must be due to your jovial nature.”

“No, I like when you call me Robbie because when you do, you're not sarcastic, gruff, angry or anything like that. When you call me Robbie, that's when I know you care.”

Morse looked at him curiously. “You keep saying that.”

“What?”

“That I care.”

“Oh. Yes.” Lewis did look a little sheepish, but didn't break eye contact. “It's true, though. I even told Gary that. Well, I said Ed cared, that he just usually hides it. And as I said that I knew I wasn't talking about a made-up character, I was talking about you. You care. And I think you're trying to protect yourself with your gruff demeanour.

“And when did you become a psychologist?”

“Oh, just a Morse expert. Hard not to, considering how long we've been working closely together.” He grinned at Morse, then continued eating.

Morse didn't say anything in return, he simply watched Lewis eat.

“Will you do me a favour?” Lewis asked after a while.

“Another one? On top of staying the night?”

“Did you actually plan to go home?”

“Not really, no,” Morse admitted.

“Then it's just one favour.”

“Alright, name it.”

“Go get something to eat. I can hear your stomach rumbling over the beeping of the machine. I'll be fine for a while.”

Morse chuckled. “I guess I could see if the cafeteria is still open.”

“Good idea. Bring me a lemonade, if it is?”

“Are you allowed to drink lemonade?”

“You heard the nurse, liquids only. And it's not as if I'm asking for alcohol. I haven't had much luck drinking lately. First the hangover, then I get stabbed while sipping a beer.” He winced involuntarily at the memories.

“I'll see if they sell lemonade,” Morse promised.

“And … Morse?”

Morse looked at him curiously. “You never call me Morse.”

“I don't really feel like calling you Sir right now.”

“Morse is just fine.”

“When they let me out, I'd really like to, you know, your sofa?”

Morse smiled. “You had better heal quickly then, if you miss my sofa that much.” With that, he left for the cafeteria, still uncertain what was happening between Lewis and himself, but willing to go with Lewis' spirit of simply enjoying it for now.


End file.
